


Trollhunters Drabble Anthology

by Melibell



Category: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-11-28 17:49:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20970578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melibell/pseuds/Melibell
Summary: This is a collection of short drabble written by me for the Trollhunters Fandom. Each chapter is a separate story. Some of them are unfinished.





	1. Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trollhunter!Barbara/Gunmar, each drabble is separated by ***

# Fire

The first time he saw her was in that dreaded armor. The trollhunter, the enemy since ages past, Merlin’s slave.

Her hair was of a smoldering fire. The burning embers undone in the darkness. The eternal flame standing against him in defiance. Her polearm held high with the strength of a valiant warrior.

Gunmar was drawn to that spirit, to that fire bringing long-forgotten light to every corner of this forsaken land.

A light that does not diminish even now as she faces the Nyarlagroth. The Trollhunter dances across the field with fluid steps of an impure. Streaks of red blurring against the ever-persistent, consuming green. It is a dance of death, of war. One they have all done many times in their life. That is the way of existence.

The Nyarlagroth pushes the fleshbag against the arena wall. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, the helmet dissolves.

Gunmar can’t help but lean forward. He does not know if it is out of concern or triumph. He whispers softly. “Soon.…”

The possibility of her dying or becoming an empty vessel fills him with dread. Gunmar has grown attached to her fierce power, to her biting words. Maybe there is a way to make a deal with Merlin’s champion. He has something she want’s after all.

“Enough!” Gunmar roars, standing to his full height. The fleshbag Trollhunter looks up. One of the keepers brings the Nyarlagroth to heel.

Gunmar walks down the stairs with heavy pounding steps. The Trollhunter breathes out, readying her bright ornate spear of red. Her brow is covered in sweat, hair sticks to that all to soft face.

She does not attack, just watches his every move for an opening.

Gunmar gets down to her level. “Why do you still fight Trollhunter? Are you that loyal?”

She scrounges her face at his breath. “You took my son, this has nothing to do with loyalty.” She twists her double-edged spear.

“This is revenge” Barbara narrows her eyes, twisting the weapon around, pushing it forward with all her might towards the large troll. He dodges easily, pushing the spear down under his foot.

Barbara groans, keeping one hand on the spear, she goes to kick Gunmar in the gronknuts but he steps off the spear and she stumbles back. Knowing that if the spear dissolves, there won't be enough strength in her body to conjure it again.

“Revenge!” Gunmar scoffs, circling. Barabra does not take her eyes off him. “Do not forget that I still hold both of your sons in my grasp, here in the darklands or on the surface, I am in control.” he grins, nodding at Dictatious. The smaller troll holds up a large fetch.

Beyond the green fizzling expanse is her son, the one she has known for years, the changeling, now in his strange form. He holds a baby boy that is all too human, with peach cheeks. The child that was taken from her all those years ago. She loves them both dearly. Her anger is not directed at the child who is a victim in this as any. No, she directs it all at the bastard troll before her.

“You will not touch a hair on their heads!” she jumps forward. The changeling seems surprised, he never expected her to include him.

Gunmar avoids her frenzied strikes in fluid movements that do not quite match his size.

“The only way you can assure their safety is if you give in, Trollhunter” he draws out that hated title.

Barbara curses, looking between Gunmar and her children. She sighs, the determination does not quite leave her eyes.

“Fine, what do you want?” she relaxes her stance.

“Mom! No, don’t—” the changeling boy shouts despite himself. Blinky’s brother shuts off the fetch before he can finish.

“Simple, stand by my side and be my champion. Help us escape the darklands.” There is mirth behind Gunmar’s words.

Barbara breathes out, closing her eyes.

Dictatious approaches her “Madam.” He holds a gem of red in one of his four limbs. Six eyes filled with a smugness that seeks to annoy.

“Carry this on your self and when we escape, you will embed it in your amulet or I will make your sons suffer worse than death.” Gunmar nods at the red gem. The gem he had given Tellad-Urr all those centuries ago.

The voices of the amulet pulse and scream for her to stop. She ignores them, they were never that helpful with their constant whispering. She hesitates not because of them but that this step will doom the world. Is she willing to bring an end to humanity for her child? She sighs, taking the stone. Maybe there is another way, to save both the world and her sons. If that means she has to follow Gunmar for now, so be it.

Gunmar laughs, a joyous, victorious sound. His claws run through that red beautiful hair. Barbara steps back, flicking his claw away. He growls. She will not resist forever. The longer that gem is in her hands, the more she will become his. Another Trollhunter to fall under his power and righteous goals.

***

Enemies. That is what they were. Cursed by fate to fester in hate and blood. Gunmar standing tall at the lead between humanity and trollkind. He saw that destiny given to him all those centuries ago the only way. Death is the reality he knew for so long that it became the default. He stopped valuing the lives he was fighting for, stopped seeing his own kind as worthy of saving. Gunmar lost sight of his mission in his hunger. The mission to protect, to deliver a better life to the forsaken.

Then he met the Trollhunter. He sought to use her, to control her with the gem that now shines on her finger. Red, glittering, their history on a simple band. They had chipped the stone in half. The other half shines on a simple nose ring.

She smiles up at him, the armor is off now that they have returned to the surface, now that they trust each other. The throne room is mostly quiet, distant sounds of construction sometimes ringing through the halls as the Janus Order gets rebuilt.

The quiet is a nice change to the constant battle and war. He thought he would hate peace but the human woman, Barbara has given him a new view of life. He nuzzles at her neck.

She laughs as his breath tickles. Laughter is a welcome sound, he was so surprised when he heard it the first time.

***

It was a silent evening in the moonlight. Her red armor bright against the darkness. Her sword in the darkness her red hair down in flowing waves. It is long. They were in the darklands for years, it took longer for her body to adjust to having no time. The amulet keeps her biological clock ticking at a slow pace. He breathes in the air with a long breath. They are free. That’s when he hears it. The sound is not soft or gentle, it is the laugh of a warrior. Gunmar finds it beautiful.

Barbara holds out her hand, beckoning. He narrows his eyes. They were not so close as he would trust her. She does not let Gunmar’s hesitation affect her spirit and goes towards him.

“We are free, do cheer up my love.” Her hand traces his marking gently. He leans into the touch just as he does every time. So different from that of a troll. She brushes her hands through his tangled mane, barely reaching.

“Maybe now you can take a bath.” she grins, working at the tangles. He rolls his eyes, breath ruffling her hair.

“We have other concerns, we must march on—”

She cuts him off with a hand on his lips. Barbara stands on the balls of her feet, pulling him down to her level.

“That can wait, we need to rest and think. We cannot rush into this.”

Gunmar does not look happy at this, he is about to complain. Barbara stops him with a chaste kiss. A strange human custom.

“Be patient Gunmar. You give your trust to me and I will deliver but it will take time for both our worlds to be happy.” She kisses him again, softly. He huffs nuzzling down in her hair.

“I will only wait for so long my cherished.”

***

The memory fades from his mind. Gunmar was glad he waited, that he chose to trust a human. He brings her close, nuzzling in that red burning hair. Valuing the peace that was brought even if it is different from what he expected. At least they both get to live and thrive, to watch their children find peace of their own. 

***

So Jim finds out about Barbara being the Trollhunter pretty quickly, he watches her train in Trollmarket. Does his best to help as he can. So he gets in over his head and ends up in the deep pit, fighting his self. But oh the boy is weaker, less trained. He does not make it out quite the same, he becomes a changeling and Barbara can see that it is not the same son. She goes to the deep to find him but he is not there. So the changeling that is still somewhat her son but different. He is more violent, more given to violent reactions. It is not her innocent boy anymore. Barbara accepts him and tries to help but worries that the deep did more than change his outer appearance but also his soul.

She finds a tomb about changelings through Strickler that tells of what could have happened and that Gunmar could hold the answer to a reversal. So this pushes her to enter the Darklands, to rid of him forever and find a way to help Jim.

While Jim has his own turmoil to face, with Strickler whispering in his ear and the Janus order claiming he is now one of them and they could get him a familiar so he can go back to school. So he can be part of the upper world again. The speciesm in Trollmarket is worse now that he is a changeling and not helping the boy deal with it. But he is a good kid, it will take him time to resist the urges that the other him whispers but he will handle it.

Jim and Blinky are the driving force of trying to get Barbara back from the Darklands.

In the Eternal Night and even before, he sees that something is different with his mother of course. Yet she is not evil and her goals make it a better life for changelings and trolls while not hurting Humans all too much. If she gets any worse, Jim will be willing to fight her if he cannot find a way to save her.

***

The eternal night spreads out through the sky in waves. Barbara watches from her perch on the broken building. Red sword gleaming in her hands.

“My love” the voice of her bonded comes from behind her. Gunmar puts a hand gently at the back of her armor.

“Darling.” She lets the sword dissipate. Taking his hand in hers.

“Is this everything you wanted to accomplish.” she pushes her glasses up. Arcadia lays in ruins below her feet. It was empty when the eternal night hit so nobody was hurt. It was a compromise she thought best. Leave Arcadia and its surrounding areas for the Trolls. It was harder to confine the eternal night to a small area but they did it.

It was partially so she did not have to kill the one she loved.

Gunmar takes a long moment looking over the town slowly being torn down. There are a few humans and changelings working among his soldiers.

“It is not everything I desired. Yet as long as this is what I must do for us to stay together, I will accept it.” Gunmar grumbles. Compromise is never his strong suit but the weak all too human woman here makes him want to try. Not to change but to accept that the world can be shared. It must be shared, for now.

Barbara turns to Gunmar, pulling him down to her level. He does not resist, the red of her armor shines in the darkness. “I thank you for that.” She kisses him slowly. A rumble slowly builds in his chest as he nuzzles at her neck.

She laughs at the tickle of air. “We have plenty of time for this later, my dear.” Barbara turns back towards the town. “The eternal night is not yet done.”

Gunmar nods. Barbara does not let go off his hand, going down the slope of dirt spreading from the building. He grins. This may not be his goals but he is with his queen.

They will rule this human world together. In time she will understand that her kind is among the trolls. As soon as her transformation is complete through the stone. The stone he had given her to resist Merlin. She will know his will and his love.

***


	2. The Horde

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gunmar/Dictatious with some OC thrown in.

CW: blood, violence, murder, indentured servitude.

Anywho live in the deserts have heard of The Horde. It’s all-consuming rage burning and pillaging from the biggest town to the smallest village. There is always a warning when it approaches.

The thunder of hoofs, the dust swirling, often mistaken it for a sandstorm. The preparations are the same for a natural disaster or the horde, to hide, to run.

It is a known fact that resisting the horde means death. The white flag is waved at the mere sound of their approach, burned into the memory of many people even if they have never seen it.

That memory, that image that all men hold close through rumor and hearsay does not compare to the real thing.

Maek stares in awe at its approach. The black shifting mass rising past the sandhill like some ancient sea creature ready to swallow the world.

It fills him with excitement, exhilaration, a will to live. Something he had lost in the past months. It reminds him of battle, of war. He breathes in that feeling, letting it fill every inch of his body. The ax handle cuts into his palm as he grins. The thought of battle, even one that will end in his death is doing wonders to rejuvenate his beaten-down spirit.

His Masters are not so enthused. Their faces are pale behind the protective cloths. They are merchants on a simple journey to meet with the main caravan. Maek has been protecting them for the last year. He only yearns to return to the Sultan’s palace, to see her again. That won’t happen now with the approaching horde. He gets in front of the wagon whose wheel is broken. So running is out of the question.

The leader comes in sight on a large black warhorse with brown eyes that glinted red in the sun. Maek is a large man but that horse is even taller. It could break a man just with a stare.

The rider has the long braided hair of the Mongols, with a thick beard to match. Maek’s eyes wander to the large scar over a gaping hole. The man has an unnatural blue eye filled with unrelenting anger.

Maek takes his battle stance, readying the large battle ax. If he can kill the leader then they could survive this. He just has to hit the horse at the right angle.

It does not come to that as the leader gestures and the army pulls to a stop. The dust settles. The clinking of swords and armor fill the quiet desert air.

Maek watches cautiously as the leader dismounts. The ax stays at the ready.

“Чиний замаар цөлд юу авчирч байна ?” The leader says in an unfamiliar language. Maek looks back at his masters. They do not seem to understand it either.

Maek glances back at the leader. The man does not seem to be hostile. Maek lowers his ax with a shake of the head

“ ‘Ana la 'afham laghtak ” Maek states. The leader looks as confused, turning back to the horde, barking something Maek doesn’t quite make out. One of the riders comes forward. Maek can't quite tell their gender. They are covered head to toe in a black cloak, wrapped against the sand. Pale skin peaks out and brown intelligent eyes look Maek over, they nod in answer to the warlord.

They get off the horse with the warlord’s help, standing by his side, barely reaching past the man’s elbow.

“What are you doing here?” They say in perfect Arabic. It makes his Master more comfortable and they gesture for Maek to step back.

He straightens out of the battle stance, following their command with no resistance.

The warlord follows Maek’s every move. Maek returns the favor, not quite dropping his guard. The horde is too unpredictable to do so. He does not quite listen to what they talk about.

There is something alluring about the man before him, a certain drive. He is shorter then Maek but just as muscled, if not more. The fact that Maek is staring so intently at the man lets him see that almost imperceptible movement in his stance.

“My lord!” Maek shouts, reaching for his Master, but is not fast enough. The warlord unsheathes his sword from its scabbard, a large thing by all standards and slices the merchant in half. Blood covers Maek’s bare chest, it feels cool against his hot skin. He blocks the next blow from hitting the Mistress. She is sobbing.

The warlord is almost surprised that he can or even would block the blow. The leader growls something in that unknown tongue. The translator speaks in a calm tone.

“Yield. You have no hope standing up against our armies.” their eyes crinkle in a smile, confident in the warlord's ability.

Maek does not back down. “Maybe so, but I am not gonna pass up a chance for a thrilling battle even if I die.” He smiles right back, the advisor translates. The Mistress scrambles back to the caravan, her child is there.

The warlord with an effort of strength knocks Maek to the ground. He scrambles to get up but the blade comes to his throat. The words he says are slow, measured. They sound almost inspiring if only Maek spoke the language. The translator says in his even tone, not as inspiring as the warlords.

“I value your strength, join my horde. Serve me Gunmar the Black Scourge of the Deserts,” they smirk. “There will be many a righteous battle to look forward to.”

Maek glances back at the small caravan. The Mistress is holding her child in fear, the small girl does not understand what is happening but feels her mother's fear.

“Spare them” he tips his head back. “Then I will.” Maek tightens his hand on the ax, getting ready for the warlord to strike. He never heard the horde to be known for kindness.

Gunmar rolls his eyes but nods. “They will be spared.” the translator echoes his words. The blade drops.

Maek breathes out in disappointment, he wanted to fight now. He gets up with a groan, turning his back on the warlord. In the courts, it would be a disrespectful action but here in the wilderness, he feels like taking the risk. Maybe they can fight over that.

The Mistress shrinks back as he approaches, he ignores her. There is one thing in the caravan he needs. It is a simple ornate box with a lock. It spells out his name and number in neat letters.

He grabs it, going back to Gunmar, getting down on one knee. The warlord narrows his eyes but takes the box, breaking the lock with the sword blade. Inside are papers that mark Maek as a slave in the Sultan’s court.

Gunmar hands them over to the small figure wrapped in the cloak. It reads over the documents and mumbles a few words. The box closes and they bid Maek stand. He does.

“Welcome to the horde, slave” Gunmar nods.

Some parts of Maek hoped he would no longer be a slave but that is not how life works. At least his days promise to be filled with battles which are a very good distraction.

They direct him to a horse that has no rider. He mounts the creature with practiced ease. With that the horde rides with a new addition to their ranks, spreading their fear in the known world.

***

Maek drops his ragged clothes to the smooth marble floor. He looks at the rag, all he had for so long. It is a sign of his servitude, a slave could never be given anything nicer.

The water before him shines with its clean silver glow. They are in the Sultan’s palace. His Master’s head is on a pike just outside the palace. It is unfortunate, The Sultan was a nice and proud man. Nicer than any Master he had before, even gave those worthy to be warriors a living wage.

Of course, Maek does not mourn him. He did deliver the beheading blow after all. So that’s not part of it. The bastard killed the only thing Maek was starting to care about.

It was a year since he left since he walked these halls. She died six months ago, burned at the stake as a witch. They both knew it would happen one day but Maek always thought he would be there. That there was a way to save her. He does not regret, that’s just how the cards fell, destiny, circumstance, whatever it was, matters little. He bathed the walls red until they reminded him of her burning hair.

Maek takes a step into the water, ita cold, refreshing in the dry desert air.

Gunmar, the leader of the horde, no older than Maek. An impressive specimen of a man by all means. In the heat of battle he never slowed, never faltered. It was almost beautiful enough to distract. Maek has never met one who could keep up in a battle with him. Few could match his undaunting spirit.

Maek sinks into the water with a sigh. The heat of the desert starts to leave his body. He relaxes, closing his eyes. It is nice to take in the quiet for once. The sounds of battle and screaming have died down and now there is just the quiet. It is the quiet that follows chaos, the melancholy, mourning silence. He loves it. The feeling of a silent battle as one looks over the slaughtered, feeling that victory in his heart.

There is a shuffle, a splash. Maek opens his brown eyes slowly. He does not sense danger from the one who entered. The advisor to the warlord, Dictatious Galadrigal. Maek rolls his eyes. “What do you want?” he groans with annoyance.

Their eyes drift down the mercenaries naked body. Lingering on the many scars decorating every inch of skin. 

“Like what you see?” Maek rolls his muscles with a grin. Dictatious fixes him with a smug expression to match. 

“It is quite the pleasing view, one that could be made so much better” They grin.

Maek takes the time to examine them. Pale soft skin that intrigues him, not something he often sees in the deserts. Even those who are from the upper regions of the world get tanned in the sun. Dictatious has mostly avoided that fate. There is a brown tinge to the crinkles around their eyes.

“Better you say? Maek stands up to his full height, flexing his muscles. The smaller man barely comes up to his stomach.

Dictatious swallows as he takes in the girth of the new general. Maek smiles at the desire in his eyes. He kneels down, taking the advisor by the chin. “I could show you how good it could be. Is that what you want darling?” he grins, hand trailing down.

Dictatious is not flustered, he pushes Maek away, a hand over that muscled chest, pushing him back down into the water. “Do you have such confidence in yourself, slave?”

Maek laughs, hiding how the word stings behind mirth. “I do but for that, you will never find out, advisor.” He pushes the small man away and steps out off the bath with a cold glare.

Dictatious eyes follow him, lingering on the whip marks all along his back and the ragged scars over his legs.


	3. Manus Dar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tellad-Urr focused fic. Unfinished.

Tellad-Urr takes another deep breath in the fresh air of the morning. He watched Gunmar leave just as quietly as he appeared. The new stone quiets the amulets insistent ticking. His death delayed for yet another day. It could be considered a blessing but Tellad is uncertain of how many more days in this accursed life he can take. He sighs, using the new more jagged sword as a crutch. Daylight is fast approaching, the shelter of the trees should do for now. Tellad is much too weary to travel back to the depths of the trollmarket or follow Gunmar. Several moments of rest for his old body will not hurt. If he was still in his youth a simple battle would not have exerted him so.

He reaches the trees just as the sun starts to burn at his stone. Tellad sinks down against the tree, knees creaking with relief. Daylight dissipating from his grip. He closes his eyes, just a moment's rest before taking control of his destiny at last. He laughs. All it took was siding with the enemy to finally gain the freedom he so desired. Now if only the accursed amulet would leave him if only the voices would quiet into a silence.

The leaves rustle in the low wind, the breeze smells of grass. Tellad opens his eyes. His instincts say something is wrong. Blue light blooms in a small circle in the air where the sun only just reached the grass. There is a flash then a troll youth wearing the armor of a trollhunter. Even he was not that young when taking the mantle. His hate for Merlin grows. The amulet whirs on his chest, dimming.

“Ooh, That was a hell of a ride.” The youth smiles. “Hi, I’m Jim. You must be Tellad-urr. I mean I saw you once but it has been a while.” The boy stretches.

“What do you want whelp?" Tellad-Urr stands up calling the sword. Light fizzles in his hand then fades. Tellad never experienced that before. Is it the new stone or the armor the boy sports?

"Yeah, that won't work. I will also be taking it now.” The boy never loses his grin.

“What?" Tellad gets into a defensive pose. Whatever this whelp is, he will discover that Tellad is not willing to give anything up easily.

The boy does not answer instead pushes towards Tellad, avoiding any attempt at blocking. Those blue claws close around the amulet. It protests for a moment then the armor dissipates and the amulet falls into the boy's hand. Tellad stares at where the amulet was, only seeing a scar he got before he was even chosen.

"Sorry about that. I can’t explain time shenanigans. Maybe we can meet in the future sometime.” The blue light comes again as the boy talks. Tellad is too stunned to speak.

“Annnd that’s my cue. Have a good life.” There is another flash and the boy disappears as quickly as he appeared. 

Tellad falls to his knees. That's it, the ticking is quiet, the voices are gone. He looks at his fist, clenching it repeatedly. He cannot help but feel relieved but also there is an emptiness. Tellad had been the Trollhunter for almost two millennia. Now he is free that easily he is free. Only moments before he wished for it but now that it’s here. He takes a deep breath. Then he gets up slowly. The only thing to do is to find out what the future holds. He turns his back on Trollmarket, on Gunmar and sets of in a direction to find a place where none know him. In search of the new life, the strange youth has given Tellad. 

***

It seems like days that Tellad-Urr walked through that forest before he chanced upon a cave. Shelter at last. Its spacious expanse stretched deep into the Earth. The mark in Trollish shines as he passes. It reads the location of the settlement. Tellad had instructed all tribes to remove it as it makes them an easy target for Orlagk. Gorgus forbid they actually listen to their Trollhunter.

The tunnels stretch deep in the opposite direction of the Trollmarket. It would be the pinnacle of humor if he left only to loop around to that accursed place.

His whole body aches with exertion as he enters the first gate to the settlement. It is a large circular door with gears of copper and iron in the darkness. Maybe they would not be so defenseless against Orglak's armies. The door hints at the settlement being as large as that off Trollmarket. Tellad hesitates, there is no doubt someone will know of him here. He does not want his past to be what people see.

Lights start to bloom in the chamber. Tellad takes a step back, he can rest in one of the dead-end caves.

“Leaving so soon darling?” a voice comes from above the lights where a darkness too deep even for a troll's eyes to see engulfs the ceiling. The owner of the voice jumps down, using wings to glide to a stop.

“_Impure!_” Tellad growls, ready to fight.

“Oh come now, that's rude. I guess Fien the Impure at your service.” the changeling rolls its eyes. He has long black hair, dark blue-grey skin with green mischievous eyes.

“Tellad Urr. What is this place?” he does not relax. Impures cannot be trusted.

“A sanctuary of sorts, come on.” The changeling turns, tucking his wings.

“Sanctuary?” Tellad does not move.

The changeling smiles. “It is a place for those of us screwed over by Merlin’s war and yet too stubborn to die.” He places his hand on the door. Gear whir, the door creaks, and grinds, stone dust falls upon them.

Tellad-Urr scrunches his features looking into the cave. In the middle is the largest heartstone he has ever seen. It has two jutting crystals, one of blue and one of green.

“Two Heartstones…?” Tellad-Urr walks towards them in awe, past the changeling. The powerful energy eases that always present pain.

“Yup, we are quite special. Come on, I’ll show you around, get you settled in a dwelling. Then you can meet everyone.” The changeling skips towards the stairs going down. Tellad-Urr looks down at the spanning bridges curving around the heartstones going into tunnels high above. There is not many people in the streets but they are illuminated and there is a low din of civilization. Maybe he will not be recognized here after all. This could be the place he has been looking for in all that time.

***

Fien turns in a half-circle, tail flicking. “This is the only dwelling free currently.” The impure smiles, clapping his hands “We are building more constantly, so see anything you like more just track me down, or Dien. We’re twins so just look for me two point o!” There seems to be an unending well of enthusiasm in his small body. Tellad looks at the high ceilings, the spacious room. There is a bubbling sound to the far left corner. To the right a stone bed peaks out from red curtains, furs lie scattered on the floor in a pile. As Trollhunter he had a small cramped room out of sight, it was all he truly could afford after the glory he once held began to fade. Tellad eyes it with suspicion, this must be a dream. He digs a claw into his palm but the vision does not fade. There is still a chance this is some spell granting the wildest desires before taking it all away. Fien smiles, a sparkle in his eye as he watches Tellad slow, awed circling of the dwelling.

“I will leave you to rest. There is always another night. Remember you are safe here, darling.” Fien does a little bow, wings rustling. Tellad with narrow eyes thinks of asking the questions circling his mind but decides against it. There is no reason for the impure to be telling the truth. He waits until its gone before going to the bed. It's a softer stone, smooth against his rough exterior. The moment his head hits the raised stone at the edge of the bed he falls into a deep slumber, free of the ticking.

Blood. It is everywhere, the dirt is stained with that dark thick liquid, it seeps into the earth. The small of iron, of smoke, of decaying flesh yet untouched by the sun. Tellad takes a step forward. The smells are all too familiar yet the red field remains empty. The sounds and smells of battle but no battle in sight.

“Why did you leave us….?” a voice whispers out of the water. Tellad turns with measured steps. The source of the voices remains unknown.

“Your job was to protect us… you have lost the amulet and abandoned your destiny,” they whisper, not in an audible way but directly into his mind, their voices of gears grinding in the arena.

“Who are you to blame so. Is this another of that accursed amulets tricks? I am free of it!” Tellad narrows his eyes, wishing to have a weapon in his hand.

The voices laugh in a broken choir.

“We are the ones you would have killed. The ones you will kill with your freedom” hands rise out of the blood, grasping at his legs.

The scenery flashes and a body lies in that still water. It is that off a child.

Tellad-Urr would never kill a child, he rips free off the strange grip of disembodied hands, their stone cracks and crumbles into nothing. The child's body does not disappear. It’s a girl with black hair marks of red in her young dark stone. She opens her eyes when he touches her. They are empty black orbs, as he looks into them, the void looks back. Her small mouth opens and speaks.

“This is your fault. You should be the one dead, not me. Tellad Urr the disgraced Trollhunter will kill all by denying his destiny.” She screams and crumbles into dust. Tellad jumps back, using his hands to crawl back.

“No! I refuse to believe what another disembodied voice tells me!” He breathes in getting up. “I am free and I will not be broken!” the sounds and smells of battle get closer. The world flashes white, Tellad rubs at his eyes. Broken weapons stretch into the sky as an eclipsed moon hangs in an orange clouded sky.

“This will be your doing, you and your kind will end us all” the voices whisper. Tellad-urr wakes with a gasp, sitting up quickly. So much for getting restful sleep. At least the nightmare was new. He sighs getting up. All dreams have meaning, this one is no different. He just has to find it. Especially with that youths appearance several weeks before. Tellad has been alive long enough to know that the magic of the world always tries to give the knowledge one needs.

***

Tellad walks through the halls of this new Trollmarket. It is much the same as any other he has been. Trolls are not known for their deviation from the order so the similarities are expected. The only difference is how quiet it is. Shops lay empty where they should be filled. If this Troll-markets's only difference is the two Heartstones then that is the place to start searching for answers.

Eyes watch him out of the darkness, they do not trust the uninvited, especially when it is a Trollhunter. He could be there to kill them, Merlin’s servant comes at last to break the sanctuary. Tellad senses the bodies in the shadows but chooses to ignore them. There is a mission just as there always is. His steps echo as he enters the tunnel that seems to lead towards the center.

“I would not go down that way.” The voice seems to have no source. Then a large Gumm-Gumm female jumps down to the floor, their insignia clear on her breast.

“Does everyone here like to jump down from the ceiling?” he crosses his arms.

“We are the watchers.” she does not elaborate. “This tunnel is off-limits, the arena is that way, it will have what you seek.”

Tellad glances at the tunnel glowing with crystal lights. The off-limits tunnel has him more curious about the lit-up passage, “The watchers?” he does not go to where she directs. The women rolls her red swirling eyes. “Go down that tunnel. Your curiosity interests me little Tellad-Urr.” she points her dark claw again. He does not remember mentioning his name, news must travel fast. Tellad takes note of the tunnel behind her, he will have to return when it is unguarded. Them hiding something is already raising alarm bells in his mind.

The lit-up tunnel has carvings that glow as he passes. Tellad pauses to examine them, it is writing awfully similar to Trollish in some parts but nothing he can make out, it must be truly ancient. Then other parts have a myriad of shapes that make no more sense than the ancient Trollish. He keeps moving, only gathering questions and aggravation for the lack of answers. The tunnel seems to stretch for miles and those strange marks seem to curve its entire length. Tellad tries to commit the interwoven Trollish he sees just in case.

In time he reaches a large room, the text on the walls ends abruptly. Dust cakes the floor. Tellad kneels down, running his fingers through the ancient dirt. The tunnel was well-traveled but this chamber seems as though people feared to enter it. He takes one step into the room while leaving one foot planted in the tunnel, in safety. Dark Red Light blooms under the layer of debris, it spreads through the entire room in six spheres with a swirling petal design around them.

With a deep breath, Tellad leaves the safety of the tunnel. The voice of the void rings out immediately.

“Tellad-Urr. I am Aranak the Agile, one of the many who have held the mantle you have so callously abandoned.“ Tellad sighs, already regretting his decisions. Why must Merlin’s curse hunt him at every corner?

“You know nothing young one! You left your family to grieve for your loss. They trained young children to fight an unknown war, to ready for an unknown war, to serve that fucking wizard.” Tellad spits. The red lights are dim as the souls condense into the young and battered Trollhunter.

“I know of your disdain, I know of the abuse you have suffered under brethren who should have supported you! But this course of action is going to end the world as we know it.” Aranak clasps his remaining hands together. Tellad rolls his eyes.

“Who told you this? The wizard, the amulet, its all bullshit!” Tellad shouts his anger rising. Aranak closes his eyes, patience is not his strong suit.

“You must go back, join Gunmar and wait for the appointed time! This is the only way to fix the future!” the ancient Trollhunter sounds desperate.

Tellad-Urr scoffs, “I have no need or desire to listen to your righteous talk of destiny.” he turns his back leaving the large room.

“Wait, you can’t…!” the voice fades just as Tellad steps out of the room. He decides that he does not want answers or a mission. There is no amulet to dictate his destiny, he should not get near anything that even smells of Merlin’s accursed magic. The trolls of this sanctuary have avoided the old forge and he will do the same.

***

“Tellad! There you are! I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” the changeling from earlier lands by his side, out of breath.

“Why?” Tellad looks down, eyes narrowed. The only time people need him is for some useless errands, he will not fall in the same cycle again.

Fien straightens, folding his wings. “A few of us are getting together for breakfast so I was wondering if you want to join us?” he smiles, sincere. “If not I can always have it brought to your room”

Tellad has to admit this was the last thing he expected. He tries to see any hint of deception, but the changeling is as earnest and innocent as always.

“Fine, I will join.” he gestures for the changeling to lead the way. Fien lights up even more if that is possible.

“Splendid!” his tail sways as he turns. Tellad-Urr follows at a distance.

***

Jim leans heavily on a marble table covered in maps. “How many stones do we have left to get before they are destroyed Blinky?” he crosses his arms. These travels through time have been running him ragged. Not only do they have to break time they also have to fix it afterword.

“It is unclear master Jim. Tellad-Urr’s gem was only the first and it should lead us to the rest but I have not found a way to activate it.” Blinky points at the red gem on the table.

Jim sighs. “I could just put in my amulet and—”

“Absolutely not! Tellad-Urr became known as the terrible because of that accursed thing.” Blinky snatches the gem off the table.

“Oh come on, The answers it holds is the best chance we have! We went to Bular’s mother, she did not possess it. All we changed was when she met Gunmar. We are running out of time Blinky!” Jim stares back at Blinky defiant.

“We have to be cautious! We are messing with time. Bular was born regardless and was at Killahead! Time will fix itself, we have to make sure the way it corrects does not make the situation worse Master Jim!” Blinky shakes his head. Trying to map and control time has proven to be more difficult.

Jim stretches. “Fine! I have to return the amulet to Gogun in…” he looks down at his watch.

“Two hours.” Blinky supplies.

“These time windows are also a real bother, any progress on that?” Jim points at the notebook with mathematical equations. Blinky shakes his head.

“I am afraid not, Master Jim. The time windows are our best choice for getting to be at the right time and place” he closes the notebook. Jim sighs. “I’m gonna go track down Claire. See you in two hours Blinky.” Jim taps the door frame as he leaves.

Blinky takes a deep breath. “The work never truly stops, huh old friend?” he sighs, looking up for a moment as he thinks on what Arrrgh is up to right now.

***


	4. Folks of the Mound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angor/Strickler, Bular/Stricler, Morgana/Gunmar.

**Strickler**

There is a world just parallel with what we know to be true. It is a world of mystery, of nature and beauty. A world of unimaginable power that many yearn.

Humans have many tales of this world, the veil is thin and whispers slip through. The curious pushing boundaries that should not be pushed.

Tales of stolen children, of lost treasures, of people, never seen again. The tales of the Aes Sidhe. Yet humanity only scratches the surface of that undulating pool of magic.

There are as many species of the Aes Sidhe as there are trees in the olden woods. From the highest station of their Eldritch Queen to the lowest pixie under her control.

Many eons ago she made all of their kind, out of the earth and wood. Out of the air filled with magic and power. She brought them life and joy, gave them freedom. So the elders preach to the younger folk who do not know better. It is only freedom in the eyes of the innocent.

Strycklander knows better, he has always known better. Since their kind was made, created to be somewhere between mortal and immortal, of two conflicting natures. He knows it now better than ever as his wings hang limp against his body, broken, aching. As his horns sting from the minuscule scratches and chips. The crack in his arm shinning with the green of the soul.

He sought protection from the queen and she turned him away.

Strycklander tried to appeal to the king, to end this pain but it was all for naught.

They do not care for his half being, they do not care for the Siofra. He is an abomination in the eyes of the creators and the faerie folk. It makes him wonder if their creation was a failure, and that is why they are so looked down upon. Even this the Queen did not answer, she just looked at him as though he was dirt, as though he was nothing. That was all the answer he needed.

Now he stands in the small hut, sung out of wood and stone. It is a cozy place with a wood stove, and a sleeping cot above it to keep the heat in. It is a simple place he used to share with the one he loved.

Strycklander slides his hand over the smooth wood of the crib with a sigh.

He thought they loved each other but it was one-sided. The broken wings will remain a stark reminder that he should have never trusted.

In the crib is a small halfling, a child of the accursed union that has caused them so much pain. He picks her up. She gurgles, taking a fist of his long hair. He lets her with a smile, looking around the house.

This is probably the last time he will see it. The last time he will see the place where so many memories were formed.

The first time Bular said kind words, the time they had dinner together. When the child first came to be.

It was all in this soft and comfortable dwelling. The memories now tainted with betrayal and pain.

Strycklander sighs, picking up the small bag on the floor. There is only a short window when they can escape. There is no doubt the dark lord will search for them, will seek to take back the child and end Strycklander’s life.

He will not make it easy for them, even if his fate is inevitable. Nobody can stand the strength of the Wild Hunt but at least he will have the honor that comes with being hunted by the strongest procession in all the realms.

Strycklander takes one last look at the house. He hesitates to close the door behind him for a moment. Then his spirit surges with determination and he closes the door on his old life and any hope of safety.

***

**Angor**

  


The knife glints in the morning sun, the car lurches on the uneven dirt road. They are miles away from civilization, far enough for screams to remain unheard.

Angor slowly drags the knife across the sharpening block with practiced ease, the jumping rattling of the truck not affecting his precise strokes.

“Put that thing down already! Do you have to sharpen it now?!” There is a slight tremble to the man’s voice. The hat he wears is pristine, almost as new. Some slight creasing but one can tell it is very well taken care of.

The man, in general, seems to be very meticulous about appearance. Well-manicured nails, a neatly tailored trench coat. Hair styled with care and neatly trimmed. He puts off the air of someone who is used to be in control and it has been years since they truly got their hands dirty.

Angor despises people like that. Those that sit behind desks and give him orders. Those that expect obedience without ever having to work a decent day in the sun. 

He has been ignoring anything Otto Scaarbach has been saying the entire way and he is not about to change now. The knife slowly glides against the stone with that grating sound, slower than necessary.

The man driving makes an annoyed huff but does not mention it again.

Angor looks out the window. The scenery has given in to the semi-flat expanse of fields several miles back. He admits the sight is breathtaking, he has never seen this much greenery in one place. He grew up in the desert climate of India and this is his first time stepping foot in Ireland. It is about what he expected but the songs and tales don’t quite do it justice.

There is a mysterious power in the air. It is different from his homeland where the beings that crawl in the night are of sand, grating, shifting creatures. Their power is silent, heavy. It presses at every part of the body, seeking to paralyze.

Here among the greenery, it is different. Almost uplifting, like a cool drink in the desert air. The first sight of an oasis when the water has run dry. The feeling of hope.

Yet below that is something darker trying to push through. The feel of oil, thick and unyielding. It calls to him, it wants him to give in to the call. He ignores it, being more magically inclined the most, he has learned to resist that dark call from beyond the veil.

The car starts to slow as they turn into an even smaller and overgrown path.

Angor gets out before the car quite pulls to a stop, Otto curses but does not get out. He was just responsible for getting the assassin to the destination and nothing more.

Angor looks up at the base where he will be staying. It is a large mansion overgrown with decades of plants. Vines crawl up the stairs that have held up better then he would expect. In general, the mansion is one piece, nature not having quite reclaim it. Moving closer he sees why. The stone of the pillars by either side of the curving stairs are marks of eternity. Cast to hold the place together well past its natural age.

“The worker will be down this evening for whatever it is you need to make this dump presentable.” The man leans over the passenger seat to be heard through the rolled-down window. Angor does not give him a second glance, instead of looking up at the sprawling floors of the mansion, glad they do not have the iron bars common to such old buildings.

“There is no service in these hills so the landline or your satellite phone is the only way to get in contact.” Otto continues. “It is only for emergencies, do not hold up the line. We have agents working in other locations.”

Angor nods at this but says nothing.

Otto rolls his eyes. If the assassin wants to be silent it’s not his problem.

The car starts and soon Angor’s handler is gone. He takes one more look at the mansion. There is a lot of work to do before he can lure the creature. It will be a long day. He sighs, pulling the skin tight tank over his head and throwing it one of the vines by the pillar. Slowly climbing the stone stairs. The faster his mission is done, the faster he can go back to doing something worthwhile.

**Bular**

CW: blood, child death, abuse, self-mutilation

“Let me go! We have to stop him!” The impure strains against his strong yet gentle grip. The moon above them shines bright with its dead gaze. It shines on every carved glyph in the arena, filling them with strange magic.

In the middle stands his father, Gunmar the Black, the skull crusher, the one he bows his head to even now.

“Be quiet, impure.” Bular struggles to keep his voice steady but it cracks at the word impure. The one in his arms is his mate, his love. Yet he is cruel and cold. Strickler will never forgive him. Bular would not blame him.

“That's our child, Bular! Gunmar, my lord, stop!” The changeling shouts, tail whipping at the ground, wings attempting to push away, arms reaching.

Bular holds him tighter, whispering “You need to be quiet, be glad father isn’t doing this to you!” He sighs, it was a choice of the child or Stryckler.

“I would rather it was me! That's our son! He deserves a better fate than to die at his hand!” Tears spill as the changeling slumps against Bular’s grip, all resistance leaving that proud body.

Bular looks up at the center. There is a simple stone table with enchanted glyphs around its lip. Gunmar stands tall over it, speaking words that Bular can't quite make out over Stryckler’s muttering distress.

On the table is a young halfling, no more than two decades. He only just started to speak. Bular looks away, it hurts him to think of what will be done. The pain the boy will go through but it will make him stronger. He will be a great warrior for the cause.

Stryckler’s words trail off into quiet sobs. He twists in Bular’s arms to lean into his shoulder.

Bular wonders if he should have tried harder to appeal to his father, to the queen.

The queen stands and watches the ceremony even now. Covered in shadow her piercing eyes burn with unlimited passion and power. Even if he wanted to resist, to save his son, he would not even get two steps before being struck down.

The glyphs start to glow bright gold as the magic builds. The boy laughs as shinning orbs form and descend.

Silence descends on the clearing in anticipation. The Queen grins, wide, all teeth.

Then the screaming starts.

Stryckler’s body trembles, his grip tightens on the leather straps, he presses tighter against Bular’s body. The large troll holds his mate close, trying to stay strong. He has to put on an image his father can be proud of. While also supporting his mate.

He thought he could balance the two lives, the two opposing natures but now, here on this cold moonlit night, he knows it to be only wishful thinking.

He will need to choose between loyalty and love. Bular knows he has already chosen but maybe, when the child survives, comes out of this stronger, earning the respect of all. His child destined to lead the wild hunt where he could not.

That was also a pipe dream. The child does not survive. His screams die and there is silence. The broken scared body lays limp, the magic fades.

The Queen rolls her eyes in disappointment and disappears. Gunmar meets Bular’s eyes and there is sadness there. The sadness he saw when his mother died. It is gone in the next minute as a portal opens. Gunmar leaves with one last glance.

Bular lets the changeling down. Stryckler does not want to look, he knows it failed. He knew it would fail.

“I told you…” the impure whispers, it seems loud in the silence of the clearing.

Bular walks past him to the ceremonial table. The lingering smell of magic fills the air with its acrid smoke. He picks up the child gently, almost in disbelief. It can’t be. There was a risk, he knew there was a risk but he thought himself above it. He thought that the power under their control would protect the child, would make the boy strong enough.

It hits Bular that he had fate in the universe, thought he was special, they were special to never feel this pain. The universe saw this and turned its back, it betrayed them.

He looks up at the sky, a slow growl form in his throat. Then he roars up at the sky in pain and anguish.

Stryckler does not look back, does not move from where he sits consumed in shock. Quiet tears stream down his face. He knew this would happen, the universe was never on his side after all.

***

“Stryckland! What is the meaning of this!?” Bular eyes do not know what to focus on. The blood on the impure’s soft fleshbag hands, the dagger. The cuts and scrapes over his bare chest, the empty grave, the small body wrapped in cloth.

Stryckler looks up, his eyes are wild, almost mad. He laughs, it’s harsh, pained. “I took him to the queen.” he looks back down at the bundle, gesturing with one-pointed, trembling digit.

Bular sighs, sinking down. He takes the knife hanging limp in the changeling's hand.

“What did she say?” he says softly.

Stryckler looks up sharply. “Ha! What did she say!? Are you daft! Look at me!” Stryckler waves his hands with wild abandon, rising up to glare in Bular’s face. He stops, the troll’s gaze is free of anger or annoyance, instead, there is just an empty sadness.

Stryckler takes his hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” he sighs, changing forms. The wounds on the soft flesh seal as his body changes to stone, the blood stops.

Bular squeezes on that small palm, it makes him feel better.

“This is..” he hesitates, “…my fault.” It hurts him to admit it but it is true. He gave in to his father, he let this happen.

Stryckler looks away, with a breath. The silence stretches for agonizing moments.

“I’m with child” the phrase shatters the silence into a dozen sharp pieces.

Bular draws in a raspy breath. “What…?”

“The witch, *the Queen* informed me when I went to beg her for our child’s life.” Stryckler, absentminded, runs a hand over his stomach.

Bular is speechless, another child, so soon, without the ritual. He did not know that was possible. His eyes are focused on Stryckler’s hand slowly tracing arcs.

Stryckler continues in the same bitter tone. “She did the spell again.”

Bular looks up to meet the changeling's eyes. “Again… on the child? Is it….?” he can’t finish the sentence.

Stryckler shakes his head, whispering. “I don’t know…” he sighs, holding tighter to Bular’s claw. “We won’t know until it has grown if it ever does.” his voice is monotone with a tinge of fear.

Bular gets some of his spirits back. “I will not let anything happen to it, not again.”

Stryckler’s laugh is harsh, he looks away. “Right, I have not heard that before.h”

“I am serious Imp—, Stryckland.” Bular is passionate, determined. The changeling looks up to meet that strong gaze.

“I will betray my father and everything the Queen stands for. I will do it all for the child, for you” he says with determination.

Stryckler wants to believe it but doubt rolls in his gut. Bular does not have the strength to stand against Gunmar, none of them do. He nods anyway, giving into the foolish hope that the words bring.

***

The cradle sits empty. Bular sinks to his knees, hand heavy on the wood. They are gone, left without a word, as Stryckland always said they would.

He was too late. He hesitated in the time when it mattered most, again. Told Stryckler to wait, told him that everything will be fine. That he will appeal to the queen, that they will not lose another child.

He knows now that it was a useless hope.

The Queen does not listen to reason. She cares not for their plights.

The Eldritch queen did not care for his bowing and servile manner did not care how he belittled himself. She demanded that he present her the child, to bring the girl to her.

Gunmar, his father, did nothing. He stood there, given his loyalty completely to the Queen.

The King of the Wild Hunt, of the Unseelie courts, given in soul and heart, having forgotten their nature and goals.

Bular has not forgotten. The ages past where their people starved by the hands of the Seelie. The cruelty and fear that still fills the air. Almost nothing has changed, their people are getting restless and afraid. More of them die as the war outside the realms continues. Yet she does nothing, she sits and waits for some unknown signal.

Father is too infatuated, too far under her spell to see the truth. It is all the witch's fault.

Bular sighs, getting up. There is no way Stryckland would get far alone. The realm is not friendly to those who run.

Bular wants to follow them but doubts there is enough time to do so. There is something he can do that is worthwhile. Something that will protect his child and mate.

The small cottage is mostly untouched, the changeling must not have taken much.

Bular quickly finds everything he needs, chalk, candles, a bundle of herbs. One of his girl's favorite toys, a soft handmade mushroom.

Her favorite toy, a dragon, is gone. Strykland must have taken it, she would not be able to sleep without it after all.

Bular closes his eyes, what he is about to do will make sure he never sees his family again. He is betraying everything he stands for. Gunmar will punish him if not of his own will, it will be on the Queen’s orders.

Bular is long past caring about his own safety, about loyalty. He will not lose another child for some unknown purpose. He will not lose his mate to the witches meddling.

The troll opens his eyes and starts reciting the spell of protection. The spell that will hold back the realms wrath long enough for the ones who matter the most to him can escape.

If he is lucky they will not notice. If the universe is on his side he will be able to keep his rightful place long enough to find a way to leave and follow them without bringing danger to the changeling.


	5. Embodiment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Changeling!Dictatious, Trollhunter!Dictatious. Me just having fun with some whump on the green bean.

“You lied to me Dictatious! You are a traitor!” Gunmar descends on him, Decimar blade at the ready. “No Gunmar! Please! I just wanted to live, I’m sorry.” he begs, the chain cuts into the living stone around his throat. “Begging is beneath you. One thousand years by my side Dictatious and this how you repay me. With lies and deception?” His breath ruffles the smaller trolls' hair.

Dictatious whimpers, Gunmar did not kill him but that does not bode well. He swallows, whatever he has planned won't end well. There is slack in the chain. He swallows again, getting up quickly, attempting to run. The chain snaps taught as he is yanked back, slamming into the wall. “Now you wish to run, There was a chance for me to pardon you but now I will make you feel suffering that will make you wish for death.” The Decimar blade dissipates at his words.

“Gunmar please, I’ll do anything.” he sobs, tears running through the dust of the dead. Gunmar sneers. “It is too late Dictatious. Hold him still Maek.”

The bigger troll pulls tighter at the chain stepping down. It forces Dictatious to look up, neck open to attack. Gunmar grabs one of his arms that has a tiny crack on it. He takes out a blade placing it into that crack. “I have had enough of betrayal, you will suffer for your lies.” Gunmar’s voice is cold as he pushes the blade in.

Dictatious screams, a shriek that shakes the cave. Maek flinches but is otherwise unconcerned. Gunmar does not stop, pushing the blade farther into the bone until the knife slices through completely. The arm falls to the floor, blood spilling from the stump. Dictatious sobs, hoarse cries escape his throat. Gunmar growls, leaving as fast as he came in.

Maek sighs, crouching. There is a hot fire to the side, he grabs the cautery where it was heating. He had it prepared ahead of time just in case. “Don’t move. I need to seal the wound or you will bleed out.”

Dictatious whimpers trying to crawl away but the chain holds him tight. Maek rolls his eyes, grabbing the stump of the arm pressing the hot metal to it. Dictatious tries to scream but nothing comes out. The stone sizzles filling the cave with that peculiar smell. Maek lets him go, he falls to the floor as the chain gains slack. The large gumm-gumm undoes the chain around his neck. “You may want to run before he comes back. In my opinion, you should have taken that chance as soon as he returned darling.”

Dictatious pushes against the wall when the chain snaps. Maek rubs at his chin in thought. “Run you fool, this is not the time for cowardice. I am taking a chance and yet you insist on weakness.”

Dictatious curls in, cradling that injured arm. He would love to run but where? He does not know where they are and stumbling around will get him discovered which will draw even more of Gunmar’s anger to the surface. If he stays, of he serves maybe he can survive for the next one hundred years.

Maek throws his arms up “Suit yourself, you will not like what is coming.” The large gumm-gumm leaves the caves.

Dictatious takes a deep breath then another, trying to get the trembling that shakes his stone under control. The ache in his bones spreads beyond the stump to the limb that once was. Tears spill uncontrolled as he gasps for air, a broken barely audible whine escapes his throat.

When will it stop? He escaped the darklands, escaped Gunmar, lived to see him die. Yet now he is back from the dead. Dictatious should have learned by now not to hold on to hope for every time it is shattered. The smallest slither of light snuffed out by the cruel reality of life.

There is a grinding noise of iron running over cobblestone. Dictatious wakes from his uneasy slumber at the sound. He hears a grunt as someone is thrown into the cell with him. The tell tale glow of Gunmar’s markings swims in the dark dungeon. The cell slams shut cutting off any chance of escape. Gunmar leaves without a word.

Dictatious pushes up clearing his raw throat. “What is your name?” His voice is tattered and hoarse. “Arrrgh” the shape moves to look around. Dictatious sighs. Aarghaumont, Gunmar’s old general, he is really gathering all who have betrayed him. “How did they catch you?” Dictatious groans, moving to send pain down his spine.

“Came for you” Arrrgh states, the bars of the cage rattle as he tests them. Dictatious laughs a harsh sound, breaking into a coughing fit. “So much for that plan.”

Arrrgh moves around the cell looking for a way out. “Jim will save.”

Dictatious scoffs. “Even your trollhunter is not strong enough to fight through Bular, Gunmar, and his mate let alone his armies.”

Arrrgh ignores him, working at the bars, the sound is grating to the ears.

The large troll spends hours trying to get out of the cell with willpower but Dictatious can tell he is getting tired. Any metal made by trolls is made to withstand way more force then the Krubera could produce. Dictatious heart sinks even lower if that was possible. There is no way he will ever leave this place.

Heavy footsteps sound as someone comes down the steps. Dictatious backs up behind the Krubera. Arrrgh growls, the glow of his green marks fills the cave. “Be silent, traitor, you are in the presence of the Eldritch Queen.” Gunmar’s voice echoes. A melodic beautiful voice rings with a laugh. “I do not expect anything else from those who follow Merlin’s pawn, respect is such a foreign concept to them.”

The cell doors open. The sound of stone on stone as the Krubera charges, then the flash of magic and a thud.

Dictatious takes several deep breaths trying to push down the fear. A small hand takes him by the horn, the gold glow of her dark eyes bright in his. “You can walk or I can drag you. Make your choice.”

He swallows “I’ll walk” her grip on his horn sending stabs of pain through an aching body. She pulls back, her touch lingering. Gunmar’s glow comes into view. “Hold on to me a traitor.” He growls. Dictatious hesitates before holding on to that rough lined stone. He hears chain click, the growl of the Krubera and another sizzle of magic followed by a thud.

They walk through the tunnels of the trollmarket for many uncountable minutes. Gunmar yanks Dictatious up by the hair every time he stumbles or slows.

It is a relief when they stop. Gunmar pushes him to the ground. The stone is hot under his fingers.

“Dictatious! Arrrgh!” The voice is familiar filled with concern. “Blinkous?” Dictatious looks around trying to force his eyes to see to no avail.

The women laugh “I was waiting for you Trollhunter.”

Jim growls “Let them go! We defeated you once, we shall do so again!”

Her voice shows no sign of concern. “Oh, but can you take all four of us at the same time young one?” Her armor clinks as she gestures. “I am not offering a fight today Trollhunter but a choice.

” The trollhunter says nothing and Dictatious wishes for sight so he could get a handle on the danger.

“What choice?” The Trollhunter's voice is low with a barely audible growl behind the words.

“It is simple darling. The Krubera or the Conundrum, you can leave with one but the other I shall end”

Dictatious whimpers shrinking back, Gunmar stops him with an iron grip on his neck. He hears Blinkous gasp “No! Let them both go.”

Morgana ignores his plea. “Chose or they both die” the chains rattle, the Krubera grunts. The sound of a sword dissipating, the hushed whispers that Dictatious can’t quite make out.

“No! They are both coming with us.” There is a pop as the sword of daylight materializes. He sees its silver flare as the Trollhunter jumps down into the arena. Gunmar lets him go. Charging at the half-troll hunter. Chaos erupts. Dictatious does his best to get out of the way, a large arm grabs him, chains rattling. Explosions ring out all around. Any sense of coordination Dictatious had disappeared.

“Arrrgh! Watch out!” The voice is desperate and scared, Dictatious can’t place the source as the grip around him falls slack and he tumbles to the ground. “Dictatious!, No!” The voice sounds farther away. “We have to go to Blinky! I’m sorry we have to come back to him!” The sounds of battle retreat. The small grip of Morgana takes him by the horn. “They left you, I wonder how much more hope your weak heart holds. I suppose we will find out.” The spark of gold magic than darkness as he faints.

He wakes an unknown time later as its passage has long ago become a mystery. Dictatious tries to get up but something rubs against his stone on the three remaining arms. He cannot move his head up, a chain rattles at his attempt. Dictatious hears voices.

“What is your plan, my queen?” Gunmar always the loudest in any room. “It is time to make a new kind of impure, one changed so drastically that it will be a wonder to challenge even Merlin’s creation.” Her melodic voice hints at a sinister fate awaiting him. Dictatious struggles against the bonds. “Ah, he is awake so we can proceed.”

His breaths come in short rapid huffs. He always hated being restrained. It is not the first time and it will not be the last. Dictatious feels the witches hands put a blindfold around his eyes, he whimpers at the darkness. At least blurry vision gave him something to focus on. She pries his mouth open, not a hard task. “Bite down on this, don't want you to hurt yourself too much”

He spits it out “No! Whatever you are planing I will not just–” his voice is cut of magic sizzles and his jaw locks. “I do not recall giving you a choice.”

He feels cold metal run over the arm opposite the stump. “This will hurt, I need both arms for the ritual.” She hums as the knife stops at the joint. Morgana plunges the knife in with more power the Gunmar, disconnecting it with one swipe. The pain is not instant and that delay makes it worse. He pushes up against the bond a silent guttural scream drops just as it forms. Tears stream down his face. Morgana hums, the wound sealing with magic without pain. “Rest for this pain is nothing for what is to come.”

Dictatious feels his chest heave, drool going past his teeth. The magic holding his mouth open relaxes, his breath catches and sobs tremble through his body. It is the pain, the feeling of being abandoned, the fear of being under the mercy of the witch.

Dictatious hears her melodic voice going around the room as she hums. Magic sparks everywhere she stops. There is a tingling where the restraints connect.

Her breath tickles his hair. “Calm your breath. The moon is almost upon us. This will go better if you are calm.”

Dictatious only struggles more. She clicks her tongue. He feels as she runs her hand over the stump. “The more you struggle, the more pain you will feel.” She pulls away, the flesh where she touched burns.

He tries to listen to her words, whatever she is planning can not be more pleasant then what came before. Yet his body refuses to listen, it refuses to calm, the chains rattle as he trembles.

“I did not expect you to be able to calm down” magic crackles, locking his jaw once again. Tingling spreads from the chains holding him, down his body. Pain follows soon after. He hears his living stone crack and breaks before he feels it. Dictatious expect his throat to have no more room for screaming yet he does. He screams as his spine breaks and elongates. As his teeth crumble and new ones grow, as his very living stone gets stripped of its outer layer becoming something new. The scream loses all sounds as the transformation runs its course. The pain comes in waves when he thinks it is all over a new pain that makes him dread existence shakes his body.

When it is all over Dictatious breathes deep, the fail he now possesses twitching. The pain is a lingering memory that leaves him exhausted. He slips out of the chains easily with his new body. His throat is raw, the speech will not be possible anytime soon.

Dictatious sniffs at the air picking up the peculiar smell of fleshbag corrupted my magic. His claws dig into the table, the tail swings. He jumps going for the witch. Doctatiois does not get to her as the magic sparks.

Morgana throws him against the wall with a resounding crack l. He holds on to consciousness, struggling against the magic. “You are as strong as I hoped now to tame you to my goals.” The metal on her fingers clicks together, voice mirthful.

He fights tooth and limb to break the magic. It does nothing. Dictatious feels a moment of being weightless before she smashes him into the floor. He fights the encroaching darkness but it is a losing fight and he gives in.

Emptiness and terror. Before him spreads a field of dark murky water with something pushing against the surface, straining to break free, to reach him. Silver slithers of light flow across it, disappearing into the dark one by one as the darkness grows in strength.

“The first” a voice whispers across the waters. He wants to move, to speak but he has nobody to do so with. So he watches the passage of time reflected in those silver slithers. The voice comes again. “You are the first troll to walk in my dark realm.” It is a voice filled with the knowledge of centuries, old like the ruffle of wind over the pages of an old tome. “You are the second to use my power, what will you do with it.” The sensation of something crawling over his skin but it is strange, the feeling is far away, it is like the creature runs a hand through his soul. “Will you fill lakes with blood? Will you bring my darling daughter to glory? I expect you will entertain me at the least.” The voice fades as the creature pulls back. Darkness settles around him and he wakes back in that battered body chains restraining him. Something ticks at his chest, Morgana’s voice whispers in his mind, beguiling.

Dictatious pushes against the chains, sitting up as far as he can from the dungeon floor. He smells the broken human just in front of him. He whips the tail, chains rattle. He tries to bite at the witch, too claw into the stone. The chains rub painful bruises into the weaker stone.

Morgana just laughs, watching him try to get at her, free of fear or thought, the only task is to escape the pain.

“We left him! I promised Dictatious that I wouldn’t let him be alone again! I failed him during Kilahead and I fail him again!” Blinky paces around the makeshift library. “Not your fault” Arrrgh watches as Blinky walks from one side of the room to the other, grabbing a book here and there. “How can it be not my fault! I pushed him away, he told me he feared to be alone yet I did not care!” he pauses reading a passage in a book. “I took my anger out on him for betraying me never thinking that I could lose him again!”

Arrrgh stops the frazzled troll, pulling him into an embrace. “Will save.”

Blinky curls his fists against Arrrgh, letting tears of frustration spill. Sleepless days looking for a way to banish Morgana from the poor human. Jim traveling the world for another way to end Gunmar with Toby and Claire. They know if they find a way to break the spell that brought Bular and Gunmar to life many of their problems will be solved but then they also risk losing Vendel and Draal again. Blinky has been looking through every book he can find to find no answers. “I do not know how long I can keep trying Arrrgh. I almost lost you again!” He sobs against the Krubera. Arrrgh smooths his hair down, he growls, a low rumble that always comforts Blinky.

Gunmar circles the chained changeling in the center of the room. He has not stopped struggling since waking. The red amulet spins on his chest. Dictatious once a proud troll reduced to a rabid drooling mess.

Dictatious tries to get at Morgana kept still by the iron rods holding the limbs he has left still. She sits under him tinkering with the false amulet. Parts lie scattered everywhere as she replaces them with meticulous attention, matching its ticking to the power of the wave from the other side. She makes it so no troll could use it, only those changed by her to have access to the power.

“Eldritch Queen, what are we waiting for. We almost killed them, the trollhunter is away!” Gunmar goes up to her. She does not look away from her work, picking up a 3 pronged spear, stabbing it into Dictatious around the amulet, it almost reaches his heart. “They have bested us once, we must be prepared this time.” The changeling howls as she pulls it out, the barbs carrying some of his core flesh. Gunmar scowls, yearning for battle. “We are just giving them time to defeat us to break the spell on us, to separate you from that fleshbag!”

Morgana rolls her eyes. “I know patience is not your strong suit Gunmar but you must wait, this is all according to plan, a plan in development over the centuries.”

She lets the amulet sink into the floor. The piece of the changeling's core glows green in her hand slowly turning a burning red, melting. Gunmar snorts, “I will only wait so long, *my queen*” he says turning his tail leaving the workshop that has become Morgana’s testing chambers.

She puts the amulet down into the groove in the floor. “For the glory of Azazuth, I bestow the power of his eye to this amulet, to protect and defend our goals, to be our sword for ages to come.” Red magic flows at her fingertips, her eyes glow. Morgana waits until the magic forms into a sphere the size of the amulet before bringing her hands down. The magic flows in the amulet spreading through the intricate floor carvings.

The pages of the book rustle as he turns the page. “He was larger and stronger than any other fleshbag and beyond each in every way in that part of the world. He has all kinds of people. Trolls, berserks, giants and dwarfs and other people powerful in magic.”

Blinky’s small hand runs down the picture on the opposite side, where it shows the armies of Núdús in their varied glory. “Why did we follow a fleshbag?” His young brother asks. Dictatious smiles “They were different times, Núdús was the first to bring our kind together against a common goal.”

Blinky sits in his lap, still small enough to do so. “Brother?”

Dictatious frowns, Blinky has not referred to him as a brother that formally ever. “Yes?” He looks down at those small horns, chipped from battle already. “Why did you do it?” The voice seems distorted, “Do what?” The lights in the room start to dim.

“Kill me”

The lights in the room flash with blue fire then there is pure darkness that is pierced by slithers of silver in that swirling below in that churning darkness. The ancient voice whispers. “You hide from what you are, hide in memories of a life that has long gone by.” Something slithers over his neck “Look at what you are!” His blurry vision clears and he looks down. The breath catches in his throat. His hand trembles as he turns them to see the claws. “You hide from the pain but what if I told you that it can all be stopped.” The creature's voice is like dry paper crumbling between one's hands, beguiling.

“How” Dictatious gasps quietly, hugging his tail like a lifeline. The voice laughs. “Say my name, swear your soul to me and you will have the power to end the pain.” The words sound through his mind. Dictatious clears his throat, taking a deep breath, releasing his tails “For the glory of Azazuth, Abyss is mine to command…” the dream fades as the creature's voice echoes under his. “Never forget you are now mine…”

Dictatious opens his eyes they burn red. Morgana jumps back as the chains snap, as he roars, a wild feral sound. The weapons materialize in his arms, two curved blades. Dictatious charges at the possessed fleshbag, drool going past his fangs. The savage growl shakes his entire body. Morgana tries to use her magic to subdue him but their power comes from the same force so it has no effect. The amulet protects him without a second thought. She blocks blow after blow but she is not at full power. The skin peals of her arms as blow after blow connects. Her arms give in falling limp at her side, bone visible. Dictatious growls crouching down, claws digging into the stone pulling the blade up as it slices through the human. Morgana lets go of her grip on the body at the last second. Dictatious sniffs at the body, it doesn’t move. He takes off down the halls of Trollmarket, unsure of his destination.

Gunmar stands next to his son as they look at a book that may give them away around the need for Morgana. Dictatious drags the crescent blades down the wall, breathing heavily, tail clinking heavy with the Abyss armor. Bular sees him first but cannot get his blades out in time as Dictatious stops, grins hooks on to the wall climbing up. The blades nick Gunmar in the horns, breaking a small chip. He does not stay to fight, his only goal is to get out, to end the pain.

Bular chases as the changeling quickly move across the ceiling. “OUT OF THE WAY” the gumm-gumm roars. Dictatious glances back growling and keeps running, going higher as the tunnel opens into the wide space of Trollmarket. He does not have enough mind to know where he is going or why so he just goes. He climbs towards the gyre tunnels then farther out. Bular has long stopped chasing.

Dictatious takes a breath, the red glow of his eyes fades. The gyre tunnel is silent but the drip of water in the distance, he makes his way toward it, his throat dry, it has been days since he has had food or water. The instinct to survive is his main driving force, coherent thought still a far way off.

Arrrgh groans as Vendel cleans his wounds, putting a new bandage on. Gunmar had sliced him from the side to the shoulder and it still aches. He was carrying Dictatious and could only throw the smaller troll to safety before Gunmar hit him. He was lucky to get away at all. If he was stronger Dictatious would be with them. Every time Blinky frets over the plan to save Dictatious, Arrrgh feels pangs of guilt.

Dictatious hits the manhole cover with his tail. The sun hits him and he shrinks back. Sniffs at the rays before slowly sticking his hand out again. Jumping out on the street now sure that the sun does not burn.

Dictatious smells the stink of fleshbag, his stomach rumbles. People scream when they notice him. His claws leave lines in the road as he pushes off towards the first human. It avoids him and he smashes through the glass of the cafe. He growls shaking the debris put of his hair. People start running from the feral troll. Dictatious stretches on his large powerful legs, sniffing at the air. The smell of humans gets lost in the dust and the smell of something burning.


	6. Strickando Standalone Drabbles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything and ANything with Strickando. Gets sorta dead dove, with whump

“Morando” Strickler hums. It is a hot summer day, the sound of birds chirping in the trees.

“Yes?” Morando brushes his hand through Stricklers hair.

“How long can we stay like this, do you think?” In Strickler’s arms rest a young girl that has his tail but the darker blue skin of an Akaridion, a core shining at her chest.

“As long as you desire my darling creature.” Morando looks up at the green of the trees. It is good to take a pause from the war. To see his child and lover again.

Strickler pushes up, turning to look at the one he never expected to develop feelings for. The sun breaking through the folliage is warm on his stone. His daughter mumbles in the complaint as he shifts her, supporting her little body with one hand.

“Are you not leaving? When this is all over?” Strickler looks away, he does not want to see the truth.

Morando sits up aswell, pulling his family closer, leaning against the tree. “Yes, but you could always join me. There are many planets in the universe we can see.”

Strickler frowns, crossing his legs in Morando’s lap. Facing his lover but not looking up, focusing on the child. His voice is quiet. “This is my home Morando, I belong on earth.” he breathes out. “We talked about this.” He looks up finally, meeting Morando’s eyes. There is no anger in them, just acceptance. He has changed over the months or maybe Strickler never knew him in the first place.

“I do not see what is so good about this planet hurtling towards it demize. Home, where I am king” he pauses kissing Strickler gently just below the horns. “On Akaridion Five I can give you anything you desire. The world and more.”

Strickler sighs, it is a tempting offer. He looks at the greenery around. If he leaves, his child will never see any of this. If there will be anything left when Morando is done. Maybe that is more reason why he should leave. The General promised to not kill those Strickler holds dear on this planet but that does not change why he is here.

“Can I think on it more?” Strickler smiles, it is weak and he does not believe it.

“Yes, you have until the Tarrons are dead at my feet” Morando kisses Strickler on the cheek. He does not believe the changeling will refuse. Either way, he can leave Strickler behind but the child bbelongs to the throne.

***

The body is limp in his hands, broken. Morando frowns. It is just the changeling, the pet, the slave. It’s death should not effect him so. Yet he feels his heart shatter. The pain blooms from his chest, sharper then any blade. He pushes the creature away.

“I do not feel for you!” he screams. His words sounds false.

“Why lie to yourself dear general?” the voice echoes in his head.

“I do not lie! It is nothing more then a slave. He means nothing to me!” Morando turns, looking for the presence.

“Oh really, He now? Look at his body, face the pain, face what you have done. Look at those broken wings, that twisted neck, those empty eyes.” the voice grinds at his resolve, turning into broken laughter.

Morando growls “No!”

He gasps sitting up. It was a nightmare. He has been getting them since they have arrived on earth. All to do with that creature. He looks at it, at him. It is cuddled in a series of blankets, that persistent shiver present along its skin. The dream meant nothing, it is some ploy of this forsaken dirt planet.

He gets out of bed kneeling by the creature. It feels his presence opening its yellow-red eyes. There is fear in them and he can tell it wants to run. It’s, his dead body flashes before his eyes.

“I won’t hurt you” he can’t hurt it again, not now. Not in the quiet hours of the morning. The changeling looks at him confused.

“Strickler…” he knew its name but this is the first time it has passed his lips. The miriad of emotions that pass through the creatures face are hard to place. It’s tail flicks, the bell rings.

“This has gone on long enough.” Morando moves closer to its form. It freezes, watching him suspiciously.

He takes out the remote, pressing the release button. The collar is the first to fall to the floor, then the bracelets and then the straps on the tail and wings. The creature looks at the restraint then at him but doesn’t move.

“Go!” Morando shouts at it. The creature still doesn’t move. He raises his hand going for a hit. It jumps back, looking down at the restraints then the door. It breathes in, realization dawning then not letting the warlord change his mind shoots out of the house.

Morando squeezes his fist shut. He cannot take the weakness of feeling towards the creature anymore. Especially with these strange nightmares given to him by that voice.


	7. Stricklar Random Drabbles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Random Strickler Drabbles collection.

Strickler rest his forehead against Bular with a content sigh. It has been a long day at work and he is coming down with something. Bular’s chest rises and falls with even breaths. That even rumbling sound always lulls him to sleep. He climbs up to look the large troll in the eyes. Their deep red always drawing him in with their beauty. Bular shakes his entire body with its deep tones “What are you doing?” Strickler grins, “Just admiring your eyes.” Bular huffs, looking away. Despite the tough exterior he puts on, the troll is easily embarrassed. They stare quietly into each others eyes enjoying the quiet night. Then Strickler’s nose twitches and he sneezes. Bular not expecting it jumps, bumping his head on the bed frame, tangling in the sheets and sending both of them tumbling to the floor in a mess of limbs. Strickler starts laughing loudly. “If that is all that it takes to scare you!” Bular growls, annoyed. There is a dent in the floor where he fell. “I do not appreciate your human form with all it is strange actions.” He takes the side of the bed getting back up, pulling Strickler up. “Never do that again.” Bular orders with a growl. Strickler wipes away tears. “No promises.


	8. Stricrot Drabbles.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Strickrot things,

Strickler made many mistakes in his long life. They all have, it is the curse of being immortal or at least very long-lived. Regrets, mistakes, fears accumulated over several lifetimes make it hard to sleep. There few of them that do not regret it.

The eldritch queen, the old wizard is the exception to the rule but their descent from gods render them incapable of regret.

The one thing he absolutely holds no regret for is his children. Five all in all, of which three now slumber softly in his arms. They do not have any regrets or concerns at a young age. All of the different blood and yet all his.

They sit in a small cottage, it reminds him of his old home where his first child was born. She is grown and traveling the world in any way she sees fit, she visits every decade at the least.

It is a good life. Strickler wishes this peace was a daily occurrence but come morning there will be another hurried gathering of items and yet another journey. Trying to always stay ahead of Bular, of Morgana. If they stop moving, if they give up, the queen will not just kill them. She will torture all of them even if the children are not even two decades old. Strickler will not allow it to happen and at least he is not alone.

His lover, Angor lounges on the armchair by the fire in a light slumber. Humans need to sleep much more than a troll. Him being bound to human form has slowed their journey immensely but Strickler did not want to leave him. The man saved his life and even if he did not have the coiling, confusing feelings in his gut. Strickler owes Angor everything, his life and the lives of the children. The human did not have to risk that fragile life, yet he did. It still baffles Strickler how such a short-lived creature can throw that limited time away for him. That is yet another thing they will have to figure out. Should they live that long, of course.

For now, the roar of the fire, the quiet evening, Angor’s soft, peaceful snores are enough. They have to be enough, otherwise, there is no happiness in the already all too cruel world.

***


End file.
